


mary prays the rosary

by glassbones



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Catholic Character, Dungeons & No Dragons, Gen, I don't know what I'm doing with my life, Mild Blood, Non-Sexual Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 11:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8532115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassbones/pseuds/glassbones
Summary: Jim's never been a good Catholic boy: Catholic didn't agree with him, no-good tramp hick that he was, but there is a degree of comfort still in what little prayers he remembers.





	

Jim's never been a good Catholic boy: Winona didn't insist on Sunday school, and he was intentionally awful during the entirety of his high school. Catholic didn't _agree_ with him, no-good tramp hick that he was. But there is a degree of comfort still in what little prayers he remembers, in his rosary, in reciting John to himself as he tries to force his mind not to fall asleep. It's soothing and familiar, like the slightly damp darkness of the church.

"Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, you have no life in you," "he who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day." Jim imagines holding his rosary, tied down against the damp dungeon wall as he currently is. Stone beads, round and smooth and slightly cool against the heat of his hand. "He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him. As the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so he who eats me will live because of me. This is the bread which came down from heaven, not such as the fathers ate and died; he who eats this bread will live forever."

He takes his time, recites the prayer in a hoarse whisper he himself can barely hear above the steady drip-drip-drip of sewer water somewhere above him. The ropes are coarse against his wrists, uncomfortable and irritating when he can't quite pull them apart enough to free his hands, the stretch making something unpleasant twist in his arms. He sighs, loudly, feeling the air rush out of his lungs as it mists in the chilly half-light.

Jim shifts, trying to find a less jarringly uncomfortable position, takes a deep breath, and tugs at the ropes again. John 6:54. _He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day._ John 6:53. _Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, you have no life in you._ He punctuates every other word with a sharp movement of his hands, willing his tired muscles into submission, breaths tightly controlled, unthinking except for the incessant prayer. Jim gasps when the rope breaks the skin on his right wrist, slightly falters before regaining the rhythm. "He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him," John 6:55; his ropes are almost undone when the rescue mission finds him, and there is garnet-black blood pooling behind his back.


End file.
